The Five Returns
by L0necl0ud
Summary: (Sequel to The Five Stages Of Grief)Some loss can never be regained, but perhaps some who have been lost, can still be found. It was this thought that sent the Brave Little Toaster back out into the world.
1. Chapter 1

Robbie truly attempted to get them a new home together, alas, no one needed so much old junk, and the appliances were lucky they weren't currently in the dump. They never forgot the horrors of the dump, of Rob and Toaster's near dump.

They mourned the appliances not as lucky, separately.

Blanky never felt more lost. He had a comfortable home, and a bed. He was used to heat the cats bed; it wasn't awkward, the cat was kind, and did her best to understand the fabrics turmoils.

They had just been getting Toaster back, they were finally turning around, with smiles and hints of the hopelessly optimistic Chrome appliance, not one of hopeless hope. Blanky easily was the happiest, and Toaster was soon eager to comfort the blanket. The joy of getting that parently comfort from Toaster, almost everything seemed okay to the blanket.

This house was empty.

There was only enough for the human, and the cat. Those appliances that were around had settled into comfortable solitude. They enjoyed simply serving their purpose, no need for the complexities of life; they're personalities were dull, if existent at all.

Blanky felt robbed. Stripped of his own life and personality without even getting to put up a fight, to realise it was happening until it was too late. All of his friends were gone, his closest companion was potentially miles away, he was on his own, alone, with no one to talk to, no one to play games with.

At first, he simply continued his days as he did last in The Master's, well, the last house, out of boredom, though it was soon again a cruel attempt at coping with the change. Sleep, wake in tears, sob, now he tried to at least explore the new surroundings to calm himself, trying to think fondly of his and Toaster and Kirby and the gang's adventures. Inevitably, exhaustion overcame him, and so he returned to the basket of a bed to sleep in the pale, empty house.

The nightmares were no longer of Rob. They were of his friends. He'd be snuggling up to Toaster desperately, but the Toaster kept slipping away, until he couldn't even touch them, just drag himself pitifully along the ground crying out for toaster as a hand pulled the chrome appliance away. He was giving Kirby a kind hug when suddenly the vacuumed sucked him up, unable to stop doing so for a human was using him. He was singing with Lampy until he was suddenly surrounded by silence, Lampy being switched off and swept away. Dancing with Radio only to fall off the table and onto the floor, being smothered by Amber fur, purrs drowning out Radio's oldies.

There, utterly alone and terrified, he suffocates.

Lampy was used to being teased, annoyed and pushed around. But it was usually by Radio, and it was all in good fun in the end, and so they played, terrorising each other around the house until they collapsed, exhausted, against each other, curled into each other in the winter.

Here they weren't playing. Here it was cruel mocking, cruel remarks and bullying.

Lampy was NOT dull, and he was NOT delusional. He knew that they'd all be together again. Toaster never let them separate, Toaster was their glue through thick and thin, not deteriorating in the salty water of uncontrollable life events and holding strong in the hurricane winds of the gangs inner struggles and emotions.

They called him a hopeless case, too dull to really be a lamp. They teased him, saying his bulb must be loose, knocking on him and shoving when they caught him staring longingly at a window. He always yelled back with a loud "hey..." And a "what's it to you," or a "No wonder everyone here is so mean and angry with how mean everyone is. Why don't you all just shut up?"

Oh yeah, they teased him for his repetitive speech too. It wasn't his fault he never could quite figure out how to deliver his ideas before speaking, he'd genuinely tried once in his life.

Anyways,

Why would Toaster give up now? Lampy was certain that any day, Toaster would arrive, perhaps with some of the others, to collect him, to take him away and he'd follow easily; never mind what they'd do after reuniting.

They terrorised him for that too, and it was what hurt the most. "What you gonna do with your toaster? You're Master is gone. This human is your human now, what lamp are you to leave?"

It hurt because it made Lampy think. What Lamp was he if he wasn't lighting up space for human's benefits? If it wasn't for Master, did he want to be a true lamp? If he wasn't a lamp what was he? It was all too much thinking and it caused his head to ache, as the others seemed to love this and that only worsened the pain.

So on Lampy would yell back angry retorts, not knowing what else to do, how else to let out his frustration or to stop the cruel appliances in this cold, already too bright apartment, even though it only seemed to edge the appliances on further.

It was hopeless, and somewhere, Lampy worried he was becoming Kirby in all his anger.

He didn't want to think about that either.

Toaster didn't blame Robbie, but they also weren't stuck in denial, not like last week. They had seen the damage of getting stuck in such. Besides, if you're stuck, you can't move forward, you can't do anything.

And Toaster knew, looking out into the forest a few miles from their new house, if they wanted to see their friends again, they'd have to do something and soon.

They couldn't stand their restlessness.

The new owner didn't even use her, he was just obsessed with chrome, and used the toaster as a prop in the kitchen, perpetually reflecting a small bunch of yellow flowers. The irony was not lost on them, that now all alone, who are they mocked by but yellow flowers almost exactly like one from years and years ago, whom had died from loneliness after Toaster evaded it's affection.

Perhaps that's why they didn't mind the flowers eagerly chatting with their reflection, cuddling against them. Or perhaps it was their way of desperately trying to fill the void of Blanky's absence.

Sometimes Toaster wished Kirby had still been there when their new owner found them. If the owner wanted them for their chrome, surely they'd have taken Kirby as well, and Toaster wouldn't be quite as lonely. It didn't help that appliances here despised the Toaster, convinced they were trash with their old age, never mind that Toaster still made perfectly good toast. Well, when being used, which was never.

As time passed, Toaster soon realised they didn't even care about making toast now. Why care about it if it most certainly will never come? They only wanted their friends back, even if it meant never toasting bread again. Toaster was surprising them self as much as they were the other appliances, who were content with simply doing their job.

"Well, that's what happens when you spend your whole life with people." Toaster tried to reason.

"Yeah, this is why appliances don't last so long now, they get old and they get too sentient, too emotional." The words sentient and emotional were spat like venom. "It's too dangerous for us."

Toaster frowned in dull sadness, and turned away, returning to their flowers.

She remembered their last day together, gingerly wiping dust off the grave as Lampy and Blanky sprawled over the mister, sobbing together. Radio had played one of Masters favourite songs, quietly, and Kirby stared down at the ground with that sad shock of his. At that moment it truly set in, they all realised and accepted what had occurred fully. Sitting together again as Robbie returned, they realised this would be the last of their adventures together, but Robbie was already wiping off their tears. They could cry no further in the cool, soft autumn light.

Toaster knew it was fruitless, but still they grabbed a pencil and paper from the last kitchen drawer, next to the makeshift office, and set to sketching and listing everything they remembered of the humans who took their friends and their cars.

My god these appliances are helpless.

That was Radio's recurring thoughts. In this new cottage, full of pastels and potted plants, he had once again found himself as makeshift leader, though it felt more like being teacher on the basic necessities of life. These appliances looked up to him eagerly upon his arrival, most of them being newer radios and MP3 players. They knew only of serving their master and discussing their sound quality and who had best bass, deepest bass, clearest middles, and so on.

At first they all cringed horrifically at Radio's speaker quality, with their obsession of who's best, and Radio defended himself, saying indignantly "Well what can you expect from an old chap like me? At least I know how to live."

Then he had spurted off onto one of his tales pasted together from clippings of old radio broadcasts. When the musical appliances all looked to him eagerly, questioning enthusiastically as to whether or not whatever story Radio had told was real, Radio realised just how ignorant these stereos were, how little unintelligent they were.

It was one of the only times Radio admitted to his story not being one of his own experience. "Jeeze, what do you guys do all day?"

Their answer made him pity them, and they awed him, knowing clearly he did not act like the rest of them, and that he was wise in their mind.

And so the days went, him telling fondly of his master, his and his friends gangs adventures, their undying loyalty to Master and each other, as well as all their fun and silly games to pass time. Taking care of the Little Master to keep him from being too bored or lonely.

And as each day ended, Radio found himself exhausted. It was hard telling these tales in his lively, obnoxious way, instead of forlornly and longingly. It was hard to revisit all the good memories now that he knew they'd never happen again. Now he was stuck like an old wise grandma in a small village.

It left emotionally exhausted, his speaker aching, antennae dropping. He'd go to his place on a bookcase beside some device that could hook up with old iPods, and would slouch, going silent, but not sleeping.

As the days went by, he started to wish he could just forget everything, then he wouldn't have any stories to tell, and wouldn't even remember his love for telling stories.

He just wanted to be silent.

Kirby refused to think. He didn't want to think, he just wanted to clean. And so he cleaned, obsessively, over and over again, until the new appliances called out to him, assuring he does know the floor is clean, right?

"Just shut up and mind your business."

And then he continued on.

He knew this had been a long time coming, it was obvious. Almost always, when an owner does the appliances are either sold, given away, or tossed. They were lucky to have gotten new homes. No, not they, not anymore, him. He was lucky to have gotten a new home. He couldn't stand Blanky's tears the night beforehand, as if this was avoidable, they were so irritating.

So haunting.

It didn't matter, they were stupid to value such complexities like relationships and time spent together, look what it got them in the end, pain. And anger, anger at the stupidity.

Kirby vacuumed the house, the living room, the two bedrooms, and found himself imagining where in the house his friends would have ended up. He huffed, annoyed at himself, and vroomed on with even more power.

He was alone now, and he was beginning to view the ignorance of newer appliances appealing, their simplicity of life, without paying much mind to useless, painful emotions.


	2. Chapter 2

**Soooo. Like two weeks ago I bought The Best Of Fantasy And Science Fiction #24, and it arrived yesterday. I spent all night reading through The Brave Little Toaster in that book. Damn that thing has some words that even I don't know, like indefatigable. I'm not used to using a dictionary anymore lol. Anyways, see, that book also presented the idea that appliances aren't meant to be too sentimental and conversational towards each other, like I've hinted at, so I found that cool. **

**Anyways, yeah, if anyone wants to read it, get it from either that book, or a Best Of Fantasy and Science Fiction magazine, as the book was five bucks on Amazon for hardcover, and the most expensive magazine thirty, whereas the Brave Little Toaster published on its own is like eighty to a hundred thirty bucks. **

Toaster knew it was smart to leave near eight in the morning, everyone had already gone to work and school; the neighbourhood was quiet and empty, if you ignored the appliances in each house. Toaster was certain that everyone had to be in the neighbourhood, Robbie hadn't posted their being given away online anywhere, he had simply put up a few signs directing folks to his lawn. The worst luck would be someone in town drove through on a yard sale hut, but luckily, this town was not large. Not like the city Rob grew up in, nowhere near that size. Toaster was always glad for that, the city had been such a drastic change from the cottage she spent the first part of their life in, too loud and bustling, dirty and gigantic, looming, while the cottage was isolated and quiet, frozen and cozy. The town Rob had moved to, that Robbie stayed in, was the happy middle ground. Time flowed comfortably, there was a world outside, and a safe place at home.

But they didn't have a home now, and they just abandoned their last residence. The appliances there paid her no sentiment as they left with their papers, if anything they laughed, saying the Toaster was too determined for their own good. Toaster gave them a good riddance.

The streets were quiet and empty, and they made time well. They tried not to ponder what they'd do once having gathered the gang, since they had no idea about that. They just wanted their friends back.

The curse of empty streets was the lack of parked cars, thus the lack of license plates to match to those Toaster'd memorised.

The day was a knife, sharp wind, and cold, steely skies. Toaster realised also there'd be no humans to match with their memory banks either.

They ignored those facts, and paced the lawn of their new home, soon to be abandoned, for at least an hour.

To go or not to go, it'd be painstakingly slow trying to check each house for their friends, and once they left, by the end of the day they'd be too far to return to their current abode. They'd have to seek shelter in the neighbourhood out of site of fellow humans. But should they stay here instead, they'd face laughing jeers from the appliances, they'd be nothing but a decoration, never used, with no purpose at all.

Toaster sighed, and left the manicured lawn, and started their new and final, likely unending journey.

...

Toaster went from house to house, knocking and waiting for an appliance to open the front door, or a nearby window, to regard the chrome appliance in hushed tones. There they'd ask about any of their four appliance friends, describing their looks and personality ways. Toaster would receive incredulous looks, wondering why a toaster was off and about in the world alone, asking for lost friends nonetheless. Did they not know the tradition? Appliances didn't form connections, relationships, they moved on easily upon losing an owner or fellow appliances, since such events were often common. It kept life peaceful and easy, void of complexities.

Either way, every house toaster hit proved fruitless, and hours passed. Soon evening hit, and cars began streaming into the roads. Toaster was thoroughly exhausted, and beginning to feel hopeless. They reminded themselves it had only been day one of searching, when it'd probably require at least a few days to comb through the entire neighbourhood.

And so, as the sun hung late in the sky, toaster looked for a secluded area to hide for the night. They couldn't run without electricity forever, tomorrow they'd have to hitch an outlet from the side of a house, but they'd make it manage.

Toaster found themselves refuge in a thorn bush in the back corner of a garden; the gate to the backyard was unlocked and left open, vines crawling up showing its absolute lack of use. The thorns were weak enough they didn't harm Toaster's chrome, but was strong enough to hurt, or at least scratch, any humans who came to close. Toaster wrecked free as best they could a space between the base of the shrub and the white picket fence. At worse, a human found them, and, going inside to get a tool that'd enable them to cut through the bush, Toaster could make their wild dash out of the yard somewhere else.

Hidden in the bush, slouching and tired, they watched the sky, watching the splash of watercolours, warm hues with hints of cool. Something inside twanged in longing, missing the lamp that so fondly doted over the sun every sun set.

It was no doubt scary, exploring the world all alone, with no help or support of joking tales and playful bickering to lighten their mood. No doubt the Toaster was anxious and stressed, as if weighed down by twenty more layers of chrome; if not for the exhaustion, Toaster would not have slept.

But even in sleep, Toaster was stubborn, certain this would all be worth it at the end of the week.

The next day Toaster ran into quite a scare, causing them to rethink their ways of searching.

It had been a cold morning, the grass and Toaster coated in a light layer of frost. Toaster hadn't known the sensation ever, and while they could move their levers, breaking free of any frost located there, they could do nothing about the rest, not even plug into an outlet on the side of a house, for the frost within then would simply melt into water. And if the water never evaporated, over years, Toaster could rust.

Frost was dangerous, and harmful, and Toaster had to remind themselves they weren't a normal appliance anymore, to calm their fraying nervousness. They were abandoned by choice, or rather, they abandoned their directive.

What a thought, it was an unspoken, banned action among appliances, yet here Toaster was.

The scare was that, upon knocking on a door, Toaster waited, only to hear approaching foot steps. With a gasp of fear, she dove off the porch and his under it, breathing erratic. The door opened above her, and a voice reminiscent to Kirby's but much livelier boomed a "hello?"

After a weighted moment the door shut, and Toaster sighed, smiling at herself for having his in time. It disappeared as she pondered how she'd go about checking houses that still had humans in them.

It took probably an hour to dig up the memory of and practice to perfect that secret code of a knock Radio knew for appliances. For all Toaster knew, it was just another of his tall tales, but by the time they perfected the knock, they didn't care, instead they smiled at finally learning the knock. Or at least, doing it so that it sounded right.

And so they left the fence they were practicing on at the side of a house and tested it on the window of the house that made her learn such a knock in the first place.

The human came again, looking out the window, then left. After, an appliance arrived and cautiously opened the window.

Miraculously, somehow, the knock worked. It wasn't some tall tale.

It still wasn't a house with any of their friends.

It was late afternoon. Toaster was running out of time, and the last dying heat of summer beat on their chrome plating. They briefly worried their chrome would make them easier to spot by wayward humans. Their attention was stolen by a rust coloured cat jumping and landing in front of her with an exasperated. "Thank god."

Toaster jumped back, startled, and hesitated. "And you are?"

"A cat. You must be the toaster the yellow blanket always weeps about." She had an air of impertinence about her, tone of voice irritated. "He's supposed to comfort me, not the other way around. He's so old he barely heats up anyways."

Toaster always jumped to defend their friends, especially Blanky. And yet in that moment, Toaster could only stare in absolute shock as the cat sat tall and prudently, licking a paw. They rushed up the cat, who leapt back with an alarmed hiss.

"You mean Blanky?"

"Well he won't let me call him that. What are you actually doing here?"

"I'm here to retrieve him." Toaster spoke confidently, not allowing themselves to imagine rejection. Luck was on their side today.

The cat stared at them warily, judging, then gave a sly smile. "Sure, come on, my human isn't home for a while yet. Not like he ever did me much good."

The cat bounded away, and as Toaster followed, they decided they didn't rather enjoy the cats presence. As the shock wore off, the annoyance set in. The master appreciated what they did and could still do, this cat was prissy as a spoiled princess. When Toaster entered through the cats cat door out back, they realised why the cat was so stuck up. She really was spoiled.

The first reaction was shock, staring at the familiar yellow fabric and the heating knob of cream colouring. Toaster shook themselves and looked again. They noticed the shaking and trembling of the blanket, plugged in and asleep yet sobbing. Immediately a Toaster felt that protectiveness wash over them, the site hurt but the sensation familiar and surprisingly helpful. Blanky hadn't gotten better at all it seemed, according to what they were seeing, and the cat's off hand comments.

Toaster wasted no time in approaching the thin and faded blanket. They gently shook the sobbing form, calling out his name in a soft lull of a note.

"Toaster? Toaster come back!"

Toaster felt as if they cracked in half.

"Toaster!"

Toaster's tone was more urgent, movement more hurried. "I'm right here, Blanky."

"You..." Blanky's eyes opened slowly. "You are?"

Toaster moved so they'd be in Blanky's line of sight. The first thing he'd see. As soon as the recognition hit, Blanky gave a cry of joy and threw himself onto the toaster. They couldn't help them-self, and Toaster laughed, unable to believe it was Blanky hugging them. Blanky was almost crying again, now of utmost joy, and as soon as Blanky slid back to the ground Toaster set to wiping off his tears.

"Wh-what are you doing here, Toaster? I thought we couldn't see each other again."

"I thought so too Blanky. I came looking though, I missed you all too much."

Blanky grinned, finally unplugging and hugged Toaster again. "I'm glad you did, Toastaw."

And then, Blanky pulled back and asked if Toaster was going to stay. And so Toaster had to explain the plan to find everyone. Immediately Blanky seemed tiny again, shrinking in on himself.

"But, the world is scary. Don't you remember the last time we travelled on Earth?"

"We weren't as good a team back then. Besides, when have we ever truly fought? Don't you want to see the others again?" Hopeful.

"You really think we'll see them?" Wonder.

"I'm certain of it." Confidence.

"But, what about the cat-"

"Go on, go on, my human will find me another, better blanket. I'll make sure of it."

The shadow of hurt from the hidden offending comment was only apparent for half a second. After, Blanky was already joyously claiming that he could go with Toaster, and that they were going to get their friends back in that adorably young and weak voice of his.

And so, just like that, they were off. They got along easy, Toaster was glad to have someone to talk to, fill the time travelling from one boring house to the next, though the neighbourhood was starting to get more varied. Whenever Blanky grew excessively tired, which was often, he would simply tie himself around Toaster, and Toaster would continue on. They couldn't blame the blanket, they remembered the state the blanket was in back at The Master's house, how they just found him in the exact same state if not worse.

It wasn't until that night, however, that it truly set in for Toaster that Blanky was here with him. Perhaps it didn't seem like it because Blanky was so less curious of the world, much quieter and emptier of awe and wonderment. But now, with Blanky curled up against him, it all truly settled in, for Blanky had wailed, spilling on all his nightmares and fears. And Toaster somehow found the strength to dig up that old comforting smile, and care for the lemon coloured blanket, calming him and assuring him those nightmares would haunt him no more, not with the team getting back together.

With Blanky wrapped content lay around him, and Toaster watching the starry night through the dark shrub they found next to the neighbourhood canal, they could have sworn this felt just as good, just as wholesome, if not more so, as that night on their journey leaving the cabin that they were first kind to Blanky.

Sitting, hiding there, Toaster knew they had no favourites, but felt the stars couldn't have aligned better that they found Blanky of all the appliances first. Toaster, looking back now, was fairly certain Blanky needed her most out of everyone in those couple weeks of separation.

Sitting, hiding there, it was the first time Toaster thought that maybe, just maybe, they could move on from Master, from all this separation, if only they were together again. They would not forget, but they wouldn't be broken anymore.


End file.
